


Abhorrent

by THA_THUMPP



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Doctor/Patient, Hawkward, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THA_THUMPP/pseuds/THA_THUMPP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcelo Jimenez's lips couldn't be any more crooked with his smile...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abhorrent

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea weaseled its way into our heads during our second playthrough of the game - while we were analyzing the cut scenes and character interactions a teensy-weensy bit too deeply. Not gonna lie... this is a weird one. *grabs nearest bucket* But hopefully someone will enjoy i...t... ugh, hrnnnngh... #headdesk

It’s always dark at Beacon Mental Hospital.

Dark and cold, with its temperature forever cranked at a constant sixty on the central cooling system, masking the whole sanatorium with the fitting illusion of a meat locker. Because that’s what it is, really. A place that specializes in handling the processing and packaging of the mentally insane.

The coldblooded. The misunderstood. The building has been walked by all. Doctors and patients alike – and tonight’s like any other night.

Leslie is scuttling barefoot behind Marcelo Jimenez in a follow back to his cell, looking down at the floor every once in a while as if he’s entranced by the visibility of his footprints against the marble tiles. As for Marcelo, because of his explicit trust in the boy not to wander off on his own, he keeps his eyes glued to his clipboard in hand. Only observations from today’s work, but every scribble means progress, and after scanning briefly over his notes on the first page, he flips to the next.

Except he’s not reading, per say.

It’s just out of habit, to feel busy. To _look_ busy. Being a doctor he has a reputation to maintain, after all. Maintain _character_. Marcelo uses it as a front for much greater things, more personal things. To delude his co-workers from his fiendish personality, from a dirty secret he’s come to cherish over his many years of research.

He likes them young.

Oh, yes. Deep down Marcelo’s that type of man. Warped like his lips, which are now lifting at the remembrance of his first victim – or should he say, his _associate_.

Of course, he himself would deny all allegations if he was asked of his nature, seeing as he merely considered Ruben Victoriano an _opportunity_ at the time, a moment to satisfy his rapacious curiosity and just explore the wonders of the human anatomy… and the brain.

Ruben. God, that boy was pure genius. A real caterpillar among leeches – including Marcelo himself – a child of pale skin, fair hair and a mind that was already budding with such immaculate knowledge about life before they even met. It’s what made them both bond so quickly, it’s what pushed Marcelo into a jealous fit of hunger.

The hunger to get a look at all Ruben had to offer.

Because experience was knowledge, and knowledge was power. And the more of Ruben that Marcelo saw, the more he craved their visits – visits he soon stopped asking permission to make. Marcelo just came when he wanted and took what he wanted. All the boy’s research, his virginity. Everything…

Up until the moment he was taken from him in an unfortunate fire.

No one knew how it started, but Marcelo had suspicions it was suicide. Ruben’s only way of proving a point, that he still had control over his own life and wasn’t to be mocked for his brilliance and simply used as a tool for success any longer. An act of vengeance to the third degree, which, for a time, put an end to Marcelo’s wicked ways. But the cravings never stopped, and that’s when he met Leslie Withers…

“Come now, in you go.” Marcelo calls out firmly once he finds them both where they need to be. In front of Leslie’s room, where he opens the door to let the boy wander in at his own pace, and when Leslie finally scuttles by Marcelo breathes deep.

Yes, _he_ is special too.

Not exactly in the same light as Ruben – no, that one would always be patient zero to Marcelo – but there’s no denying that Leslie comes close to second. He’s the only one of his patients to survive his extensive research, after all, and the longer Marcelo stares at Leslie, lusting and admiring, the more he finds himself favoring the boy’s features. Those downcast eyes, his ghostly head of hair and the nervous twitching of his fingers…

 _Especially_ his fingers.

So long and slender, Marcelo notes, and soon he closes the door with a strong _click_ – behind him, locking them _both_ inside. An action that only flaunts his predatorial behavior and almost immediately Leslie begins to get agitated. But Marcelo’s fond of seeing the boy squirm, to hear him sound in a variety of small peeps and grunts as he waddles his way over to the farthest corner of the room in a cower, like he knows what’s coming next.

Seriously, sometimes Marcelo swears Leslie can read minds. If the boy _did_ , however, he would’ve probably already used that to his advantage and be a renowned doctor with millions of dollars by now, not just a man struggling for his paychecks every week. And Marcelo loosens his dotted, olive tie with a finger at the thought, a sincerely creepy antic of letting loose for the day while still on the clock, but tonight it’s done more in expectation.

“This is what you want… isn't it, Leslie?” Marcelo says, suggestively, showing just how much he loves impressing himself on others. Specifically his words, which he never regrets putting into his patient’s mouth.

“What I want…” Leslie repeats. “What I want…”

It’s just a frightened, mindless reply, but Marcelo takes it as a genuine answer because he’s a fucking narcissistic pig and finds no guilt in overlooking the boy’s unconscious emulation of thoughts. That, and everything he says goes, along with his power to write whatever the hell he pleases on the charts…

“That’s a good boy.” Marcelo praises cruelly, more for his own ears, as he sits himself down onto Leslie’s cot with a muted grunt, then a wave of one hand in a beckon closer. “Over here. Let me have a look at you.”

Leslie’s eyes drop at the gesture and for a minute he just stands in place, his fingers moving higher, almost to his chest as he ripples his body in a slight rock. A movement to stimulate comfort, but all it looks like to Marcelo is a taunt – a premature representation of what they’re about to do, and he feels the blood stir hot in his cock.

It blisters there, neglected and trapped inside his slacks, and he tries not to twist himself when Leslie finally saunters his way, awkwardly.

“Yes.” Marcelo purrs, despite having to physically pull his patient closer by the nook of his arm for the last couple steps. But once he has him within his grasp the resistance stops, allowing Marcelo to begin tracing all of Leslie’s curves. To outline the boy’s young and strong form hidden underneath all that emotional maladjustment and hospital attire. “Wonderful… Simply wonderful.”

Marcelo’s admiration comes in wisps, like he’s not too sure what else he can say about what he’s feeling, but that’s before he wiggles Leslie’s pants down and glimpses the boy’s cock, which bounces slightly when the elastic from the rim of his pants catches the tip. Marcelo hums heavily at the slight and soon he turns Leslie away to stroke the boy’s bare backside before working on his own slacks.

Leslie shivers against the sting of his lower half being exposed. Obediently stock-still and hunched. But the sound of Marcelo’s zipper parting behind him has his back straight in an instant, and soon out comes a series of murmurs as if to drown out the noise, to give him something else to focus on.

Because Leslie’s not stupid. He realizes what’s going on, _understands_ what’s happening – what’s _about_ to happen. But it’s his self-image that gets in the way of his opposition, it’s what keeps him playing into submission. He’s powerless and he knows it.

Just as Marcelo is too weak to stop his own urge – his drive for lust, sex.

Either sensation something he hasn’t felt for roughly ten years now, and after fishing out his own cock, Marcelo greedily readies Leslie in a sit atop his lap. But not before parting his knees just wide enough to give the boy a seat and give himself enough room for an easy insert, and once Marcelo’s satisfied with the position, he’s quick to slip up into his patient.

Leslie gasps, and the strangled choke that comes after has Marcelo teasing his hips just to hear it again. And once it echoes a second time, Marcelo pushes to keep going, to keep sliding up and down despite Leslie’s forming struggles. Struggles that only add to the tightness of his inner walls, the slickness as they unintentionally squeeze against his size – pinch to push him out, and Marcelo groans richly with another thrust.

“Oh… yes.”

Good God. Leslie feels as excellent as he’s let himself imagine, perhaps even better than Ruben did, and a sudden flush of heat has the doctor ejaculating prematurely. A trickle that slivers its way from between Leslie’s legs and onto the bed sheets beneath Marcelo’s thighs, coating the boy’s insides with a natural lubricant, making the sliding less jagged, and again Marcelo angles his hips.

This time so he can broaden his depth and find his patient’s sweet spot, to stimulate his cock for a far greater release, and Marcelo reinforces his grip around Leslie’s waist. He bounces the boy higher once, then twice for a plunge deeper, who’s still trying to wiggle himself free and whining. A pathetic drone when compared to earlier, so Marcelo doesn’t pay it any heed…

But that’s until he hears something else – the whistling and jangling of keys, which means one of the security guards from the night watch has just entered their wing of the hospital, and Marcelo’s blood spikes cold despite the blistering of his groin.

If he were to get caught like this, exploiting one of his patients, surely it would be the end of his career… and he can’t have that.

“Be quiet, Leslie.” Marcelo warns darkly into the boy’s ear when he literally sees him perk at the guard’s presence as well, which’s drawing closer like his climax. “Settle down. Settle…”

Except the coaxing doesn’t quell Leslie’s instincts. If anything, it edges him on.

“No!” Leslie cries out. “NO—”

Marcelo seethes through his teeth and clamps a hand down over Leslie’s mouth, also giving the boy a hard rut of his hips for good measure. A combination that manages to suppress any future protests long enough for Marcelo to hear the guard finishing up his rounds in the hallway outside, and by the time the wing doors creak close in the distance he’s giving into his very long, awaited release.

It comes in a rush and Marcelo withers with pleasure.

“There we go.” He sighs contently, and after a minute of just taking it in, he finally sets Leslie free, who moves away in an instant. All of his fingers rigid and clumping the rims of his pants in a hurried pull while Marcelo leisurely scoots off the bed and into a stand, where he does up his zipper with a small suck in.

“I’ll come by in the morning to check on you.”

It’s only an empty phrase to Leslie, but like every night Marcelo Jimenez means it. Because nothing pleases him more than to see the harvest of his own handiwork, and his lips curl into a satisfied smile as he shows himself out. A crooked smile, one that’ll never be straight, not when it’s been shaped by where he works.

Beacon Mental Hospital, an institution for the depraved and psychologically ill…

A place he’s fucked enough to call home.

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, time for a lobotomy... RUVIK!!!!!!!!


End file.
